


Cinder-Eli (or the mlm rewrite of Cinderella)

by awbucks



Category: Cinderella (1950), Cinderella (Fairy Tale), Cinderella - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Brother and Sister - Freeform, Disney, Gen, Kinda, M/M, and am trying to not overthink my writing, but rather cinder-eli, for obv reasons he's not cinderella, he has two step-siblings, hope it's okay, i feel like this kinda sucks but i've been sitting on it awhile, idk how to tag this, this is a queer rewrite of cinderella
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-08
Updated: 2017-02-08
Packaged: 2018-09-22 19:35:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9622532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awbucks/pseuds/awbucks
Summary: This is pretty much both my take and a queer rewrite of Cinderella. I hope you all enjoy. I plan to make more of these rewrites, so stay posted!





	

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoy! 
> 
> Any comments/questions/ideas are greatly appreciated!!!
> 
> Thanks!

Once upon a time, there was a bright, young boy named Elliot who lived happily with his father and mother. Then, when he was no more than six years old, his mother fell ill and died. His father, wanting their family to be whole once more, married the horrid Lady Tremaine, who had two children herself, Thomas and Francine. As luck would have it, Elliot’s father soon succumbed to the same fate as his mother had, leaving him alone with his step-mother, and step-siblings. Being as cruel as many knew her to be, Lady Tremaine put Elliot to work, cooking, cleaning, and working in any way she saw fit. Soon, the cinders which he cleaned covered his hands and face, leading to his brother and sister to tease him, calling the boy Cinder-Eli.   
_________

“Eli,” Eli was elbows up in soapy water, his cuffed sleeves dripping with suds. He scrubbed crusty dishes and pots with last night’s dinner burnt into them. 

An orphan in all states except legal, he worked for his step-family, had been moved from child to servant when his father passed.

“Eli! Look at me when I’m speaking to you!” His stepbrother loomed over him, stomach bulging over his leather belt. Thomas was the sin of gluttony personified. His chambers were a mess with his things, empty plates, and soiled clothes. Eli had used to share that room with him, when they were children, and had been amazed to see the disastrous state Thomas had quickly thrown it into.

“Cinder-Eli!” Thomas shoved his freshly pressed shirt sleeve in his face,already with a spot of breakfast on the sleeve. Damn it. Eli had spent the night going through Thomas’ clothes, cleaning them of stains and ironing'till you could write on them.

Eli stared at Thomas for a solid moment, eyes hot, before turning back to the heap of dirty dishes. He regretted not leaving them to soak last night.

“My shirt’s stained! You’re going to have to clean it, mother can’t know I soiled it again!” His tone was frantic, testy, and seemed to be blaming Eli for the mess rather than himself. Knowing he’d just get screamed at and have another load of work put upon him, he rose from the pail and rag, gesturing toward stone steps, to the cellar where he did the washing. Thomas rolled his eyes but followed.

“What is this, anyway Tom?” Eli flipped the boy’s wrist up, to the spot that was soaking into the white fabric. He knew what is was, how could he not, after cleaning his shirts since both of them were capable of spilling gravy during dinner. Eli just wanted to see him huff and puff.After all, he was a nineteen year old, and still spilling breakfast on his clothes.

“Jam. It fell off my toast, and…” He narrowed his eyes. "Just clean it! Mother can’t know!“ Eli gestured to the shirt, grabbing the bar of soap and brush. Thomas unbuttoned it, leaving him in just his undershirt. He was always bigger than Eli, taller, heavier. He guessed it was both because of blood but mainly lifestyle. Thomas ate like a king, rich cream and meat, breads and cheeses. Some of it went to broad shoulders and some of it went to his chin, his stomach, anywhere it could go and still retain some of that stately look girls liked. Nowadays, Eli noted that there seemed to be more of him and fewer maidens, but that was none of his business, now was it?

Eli spit on the stain and scrubbed a bit of soap in, using the brush to get the jam out best he could. It faded it a bit, but he knew it was going to take a lot more elbow grease that night to get it pristine again.

"Here, best I can do before she sees it.” He pulled it from Eli’s hands and shrugged it back on, stomping up the stairs. Once his footsteps faded away, he dumped the laundry supplies in the basket and trudged up, back to the mountain of dishes and silverware. Slouched over the mess, his bangs fell into his face, sweat beading on his neck. He grabbed a mostly clean rag and tied it around his head, pushing the hair up. Sure, it gave his siblings more reason to call him a servant-boy, but if he was living the part, he might as well dress like it.

_________

He was eight when his father died, barely two years after he married Tremaine and brought Thomas and Francine into their house. It had been a good life, before the Tremaines had shown up. He and Father would ride horses through the fields and glades at the edge of the estate, where the brook flowed through their property. Growing up, there had always been plenty of paints and charcoal, parchment and ink for him as well. 

His father was a merchant, always bringing home gifts like that. His mother enjoyed painting in her free time, and Father had always been pleased that he took to it as well. It had been a sad sight when the mess on his hands shifted from reds and blues to soot and grease.

Eli put his weight into a stubborn patch of burnt sauce in a pan, scooping water in, and scrubbing it away. 

Up in the attic where he slept he stowed away his paints, ones he’d pinched from Francine’s sets, she never used them, or that a kind old friend of his father’s had slipped into his basket while he was doing the shopping. He had to be careful, filling his brushes with as little paint as he could manage, making it last.

“Cinder-Ellie!” Francine screamed, high pitched and squealing. He cringed at the name. He was Eli. Yes, he knew he was covered in cinders, but must they bring it up every time they rose their nasally voices? 

“Come here!” She stomped her heel and he could hear her flailing. Eli sighed, these plates were never going to be clean.

“My dress has got a tear! Come fix it! Ellie!” He wiped the back of his hand on his apron, readjusting the rag around his head. Eli guessed she’d gotten it caught on that damn bed frame. Too many curlicues for one piece of wood, he thought.

“EL-there you are. I thought I was going to die before you heard me!” Her dress, lowcut and tight, had approximately three petticoats, if he remembers correctly from the washing, and four inch heels. Her hair was piled and braided up on her head.

She held her dress out, pinched between two fingers, like the tear in the silk was poisonous.

“Fix it, Eli! Fix it!” She screeched, Ellie, she pronounced. Ellie! Cinder-eli! He waved a hand at her and dug into his pockets for a needle and thread.

“I’m going, I’m going, Franny.”

“Francine.” She pouted, shaking the fabric in his face. Eli rolled his eyes and tugged the skirt towards him, bringing his stepsister closer. If he was to be Cinder-Ellie, least she could do was stand being called Franny.

He began to feed the thread through the fabric, biting his lip and closing one eye. He swore, Franny was like that Aurora girl he’d heard about through the grapevine. Constantly getting herself caught on things. 

Unfortunately for him, it didn’t cause her to sleep for eternity. If that happened, Eli might actually be able to eat some porridge in the morning.

Slowly, but surely the rip closed up and he tied it off. He stuck the needle and spindle of thread into his pocket, tucked a couple brown locks behind his ear and stepped back, allowing Francine to go downstairs.

_________

Before returning to the those bastard dishes, he allowed himself to relax, eased the strain from his shoulders, shut his eyes and rested for just a moment.

But suddenly, like a haunted specter, his least favorite voice shot into his ears like a hot poker.

“CINDER-ELI!” Lady Tremaine called, her voice scratchier than when they’d first met. Eli groaned and forced himself up from the slouch he was in.

“Yes ma'am?” He spotted her from down the hall in her study. His father’s study. It used to be his favorite room. Smelt of rich mahogany and leather, parchment and ink. Father was a lover of books and writing, spent hours pouring over beautiful manuscripts.. He’d let him draw in there while he worked, and sometimes paint if he’d promised to be neat.

Lady Tremaine had ripped the integrity of that room while still in her mourning gown. Ugly velvet and tacky facsimile art stuffed that room. It was torture to go in there, his childhood memories never matching with the vision he saw. He followed her curling finger down to the door, refusing to meet her beady eyes.

“Yes, mother.” She corrected. Lady Tremaine insisted on Eli calling her mother. She was never his mother, and never would be. For someone who treated Eli like an indentured servant, she was sure adamant about face-value maternity.

“What do you want?” He muttered, staring at his worn out boots, he wondered if the cobbler would resole them for him if he promised something in return.. Tremaine huffed, but didn’t pounce on him.

“Go wash the floor in the foyer, be done by noon, hm?”

Eli nodded. "Yes ma'am.“ Just to bother her.

"Get it done.” Tremaine huffed, lifted her skirts and click-clacked her heels down the hall, probably going to pet her devil cat.

_________

Once she was out of sight, he trotted down the stairs to the foyer. He pulled the supply closet open and got the pail out, bringing it to the pump just out back. 

“Hello, Bruno.” Eli said, stooping down to pet the old dog’s head. He dug a hand into his pocket, pulling a treat he’d snuck from the kitchen and held it out to the basset-hound. Bruno took it and hobbled to his shady corner by the house. 

“Good boy.” He carried on to the pump, and set the bucket down, wrapping his hands around the handle. 

“Eli! Dear, over here!” Jacqueline’s perky voice floated over to him from the opposite side of the fence, Gus two steps behind her, hefting the basket full of milk jugs, cream and butter. Their delivery. 

Eli usually would get it while he was in town, but the women had come to bring the largest order, their weekly purchase of butter and cream, to the house. Jacqueline claimed it was because it was more food than he could carry, but they all knew it was because they worried sick about him.

The two women ran the dairy at the market. Milk maids, they were offically considered, but everyone knew they ran the show. One tall and willowy, the other short and plump, both had a penchant for patting his cheek and clicking their tongues at his treatment at the Tremaine house. 

They were kind to him, wanting to hide him at that cottage in the forest and feed him a proper three meals. Eli would just shake his head and say that all was well, and just seeing the couple was good enough.

You’re a dear, Eli. One day…one day you’ll have a happily ever after. Just you see. There’s magic out there for you yet.

“Hey!” He said, looking up, flashing a smile, brushing hair out of his eyes. 

“How are you two?” He asked, walking over, taking the basket from Gus. 

“We are well, Eli.” Jacci nodded, her eyes looking him up and down, making sure there were no brusies, no red spots, only the usual dirt. 

“We ought to get you a sweater, Eli.” Gus blurted, spreading her palms over her skirt. “It’s getting cold.” She puffed out her cheeks, looking up at Jacqueline for affirmation. Her wife nodded. Gus patted Eli’s arm.

“We’ll find him something, Gus.” Jacqueline said, craning her neck to the window as she spoke. The woman always was weary, looking out for Lady Tremaine. I’d give that woman a talking to you if I had the chance.

“She’s inside, ma’am. Thomas and Francine have music lessons.” While that was meant to calm her, it just tightened her lips into a straight line. 

“You should be having those same classes, Elliot. You..you…”

Eli tried to smile, “I’m okay, miss. It’s not so bad here.” Jacqueline’s eyes flared, but Gus wrapped an arm around her elbow.

“We shouldn’t keep Eli, Jac. He’ll be in town soon enough any-how.” Gus slid Eli a sympathetic look. Jacqueline reached over and squeezed his shoulder.

“Goodbye Elliot, we’ll see you soon, dear.” He nodded, hoisting the basket up with both hands. “Goodbye, Jacqueline, Gus.” They went down the path, the way they came, skirts trailing, and then he turned on his heel, lugging the dairy to the cool-box. Sweet milk, smooth cream, and yellow butter. 

_________

Once the food was all in place, he rose and stepped back to the pump, resuming the position, up, down, up, down. Water began to splash out, sloppily into the pail. 

His muscles strained, sleeves tightening against his skin. Eli was starting to think that this shirt was getting a bit too small. It sometimes rode up his back, it made him a bit conscious when a couple inches of midriff were visible if he stretched up while working. 

Before long, the bucket was full. Now, it was time to go on his hands and knees and scrub the tile. 

Eli walked back into the estate, and the faint sound of Francine’s cracking singing and Thomas’ out of tune clarinet ebbed into the room. Setting the water pail down, he got his soap, rag, sponge and went back to the center of the room.

Eli bent down, rag and sponge in hand, and began to swirl the water and soap around the pure white tiles.

Sing sweet nightingale, sing sweet…

“Night-in-gale, sing sweet…” Eli sang as he cleaned, noticeably smoother and fuller than Francine, even if he never had those lessons Tremaine sent for. That poor professor must be deaf, spending all that time listening to her butcher classics.

Eli didn’t sing much, Tremaine didn’t like the noise, and Thomas laughed at him. Told Eli that singing wasn’t meant for people who were covered in ash and in cinders. Neither was painting.

“The arts,” He’d said while Eli was serving dinner. “Aren’t for those of your, class." Thomas said that as though his mother hadn’t married Eli’s father for his wealth. 

There was a retort on his tongue, but he’d kept it in, not wanting to cause a fuss. Fusses led to being locked in his room, key safely in the pouch Tremaine kept in her belt.

Eli worked sun up ‘till the moon rose against the stars, Lady Tremaine ordered him around to keep her house clean and her children fed and dressed.

He kept a brave face, stayed quiet, in his place, because if he dipped to their level of greed and malevolence, what good would come of that? Sure, his father and mother had lived just the same, and both were dead, but they had more friends that he could count, and love seemed to swirl around them.

Eli rather have that than some poor unfortunate soul waiting on him hand and foot everyday of their lives. But, as his role was the latter rather than the former, he figured it was better to just turn the other cheek.

Knock. Knock-knock. Knock-knock-knock-knock!

Eli fell back on himself, the sudden sound jolting him out of daydreaming. He scrambled up, went to the mahogany door, turned the knob, and opened it. 

Immediately, Eli ducked his head when he saw it was a royal messenger. Eli was in no state to look someone even of just a page’s stature in the eye. The streaks of dirt on his face, obvious age of his clothes, apron, rag in his hair, none of it remotely acceptable. 

Shaking in his boots, he stepped aside and let the woman in. Before he knew it, Lady Tremaine was nearly leaping down the stairs, eyes bright and sharp, hungry. Just as she’d been when she’d married Eli’s father. 

“Why, hello, madam!” She curtsied. “Lovely day isn’t it?” 

The page nodded blankly. Lady Tremaine was oblivious to her lack of emotion and gestured for her to step further in. In the process, Eli’s step-mother stepped on his foot. 

He squelched the sound of pain rising in his throat, but she still cocked a glower at him. It lasted all but two ticks of the clock, before she plastered that same sharp smile. 

“You must excuse my servant boy,” She wrapped a hand around his shoulder, nails digging into his skin, and pushed him back to his place, on the floor cleaning.

“He isn’t so bright.” His cheeks burned at that, eyes shut tight, but Eli didn’t react anymore than that, just swiping away at the floor. 

“There is a royal proclamation from our royal highness.” The page annouced stiffly and much too loud for the sparsely filled room. Eli turned on his knees so he was cleaning facing her. It wasn’t everyday the King sent out a proclamation. Lady Tremaine gasped and brought a hand to her chest.

“There is to be a ball in seven days time. All eligible suitors must attend.”


End file.
